


the key to the kingdom (and your heart)

by svtrighthere



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Betrayal in the court? Oh no!, Fluff, I will fill up the Boochan tag myself, M/M, Minor Character Death, Plotting because betrayal in the royal court, Prince Lee Chan, Romance, Semi Tender Sex, Spy Boo Seungkwan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 05:35:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26347972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/svtrighthere/pseuds/svtrighthere
Summary: The first time Chan met Seungkwan, he had wet palms and swollen eyes.
Relationships: Boo Seungkwan/Lee Chan | Dino
Comments: 4
Kudos: 62





	1. Chapter 1

The first time Chan met Seungkwan, he had wet palms and swollen eyes.

It was the first night of summer. He remembers it too well because the cloudy sky had finally opened up on layers of stars, and because it was the night when his father, the beloved king died. It was sudden and unforeseen, even for the so-called astrologists haunting the throne room, their eyes glued to the marble floor instead of the sky they claim to know so well as they look for the tiniest coin.

  
It was also stupid, or at least, that's what it has been called over the past few months, but for Chan, it was heart-breaking and scary. His father squeezed his hand between his calloused fingers, his face pale and ghostly, and the next second, he was gone. He was beloved, he was the King, and he was gone because of a stupid accident during the game hunting between the five kingdoms of the Dawn Alliance. And then, he stopped being anything, just like that.

Chan still remembers the long parade of Counsellors and Ministers coming and going, their sorry looks, the pity laced in their voices. He still remembers how one of them took the crown off his father's head and put it down on his bedside table. The Coronation Ceremony is blurry in his head, but oh, how well he remembers his own face reflected on the glistening gold of the crown, and how his eyes looked back at him, confused and scared.

He also remembers how they all started even though he still was sitting by his now dead father's bedside. It began with apologies and shallow words of comfort, but it soon became advice about what he should do, how he should do it, for the good of the Kingdom, your Highness.  
Chan was listening to them, listening to his own sobs crashing against his palms pressed onto his face, and he was praying, hoping that it was all just a nightmare. It took hours for the courtiers to get the hint and leave him alone, but even when they did, Chan felt like their eyes were still biting his nape, their voices were still judging. He wasn't only crying for his father, he was crying because the crown, which had always looked so heavy to him, was now meant to end on his head, and Chan wasn't ready for this. He would never be ready.

And that's when Seungkwan came in.

He was a voice before he was a face, a taunting guess it is time for us to meet now, before he had a pair of eyes. Most of all, he was mesmerizing before he was offending, and Chan kept quiet as a man he had never seen in his life sat on his father's bed, seemingly unaware of social conventions and definitely not bothered by the dead body inches away from him.

When the Counsellors only had fake friendly words, Seungkwan had the brutal truth. Brutal enough that it knocked the air out of Chan, locking his sobs down his throat.

“Your father was a great King,” Seungkwan had said. “You won't be half as good as he was.”

It wasn't meant to be offending, just like Seungkwan never considered himself bound to be polite, but it was true, and Chan knew it. Now that he had unwillingly entered the world of politics, he was aware how rare and precious that would become. Seungkwan had all his attention.

“Being loved and great was probably what killed him though, so you're safe,” Seungkwan continued, glancing at the frozen face of the late king without the slightest wince. “Though, you're the King now, and that always turns a man into a target.”

His eyes had stopped on Chan's face, dark and deep, but covered in layers.

“Do you mean that... my father was killed? It wasn't an accident?”

Seungkwan watched him for a couple of second, dumbfounded. Then he did the most inappropriate thing one could do next to still warm corpse. He threw his head back and laughed, the sound oddly musical, oddly fleeting, but mostly fully amused.

The first time Chan met Seungkwan, he had wet palms and swollen eyes, and Seungkwan had smiling eyes and a voice made of whispers. Now that he looks at it, Chan guesses he was bound to be fascinated with the Captain of the Royal Service. He still hasn't decided if it's a good or a bad thing.

It's the last week of the year, a period of celebrations for the Rose Quartz Kingdom, a time for rebirths and new beginnings. Chan used to love that time, the banquets that were to take place every night for thirteen days. He used to love roaming in the gardens during the few hours of daylight and watching, with his feet numb and snow dripping into his boots, as the castle would light up, wings after wings, while the sun would sink behind the horizon with one last shot of pink through the sky.

  
What Chan used to like doesn't matter anymore though, and this year, he is condemned to watch winter lays its cloak on the gardens from the high windows of the Diamond Room. If he had any hope that the meeting would end before the last hour of sunlight, it slowly died as long as the excitement in his chest after the fourth Counsellor stood up to talk about whatever he deemed was important, hours ago.

Chan watches the courtiers exchange heavy and serious looks, as they all bow down to him and finally turn around to exit the room. His back hurts from the long hours he's just spent sitting on the throne, listening to stiff old men telling him about the Serenity Kingdom and the hundreds of clauses tying his Kingdom to King Jaeho's that they didn't respect the last couple of weeks.

  
It's not even midday but he's already exhausted, and thoughts of his thick mattress fill his mind. To think that he still has to endure the banquet later that day makes him feel like his bones are cracking one after the other, his body shrinking to nothingness. That would be an idea, but he knows that the court will have him preside over the celebration, broken bones or not. And the throne is uncomfortable enough without Chan taking the risk to sit on it with something broken in his body.

He sighs wistfully as he glances at the windows. He once thought they looked magnificent, with their gold leaf rimming and the always so clean glass, but now he knows the truth. They're just fancy bars, and Chan is currently withering in prison. He wonders how his father did to live through all those years of meetings.

“If that crown is so heavy,” someone whispers in his ear. “Wouldn't it be better to take it off?”

Chan's heart jumps up into his throat, but he stays put as two hands crawl up his arms, going from his shoulder to his hair. Fingers leave goosebumps on his scalp as they wander along his hairline, playful. They finally close on the crown and take it off Chan's head in one swift motion. Chan looks on his side, only to meet dark eyes full of mischief. Seungkwan's full locks look great with the blinding gold of the crown reflecting on his hair.

“How do I look?” he asks, slightly tilting the crown on his head, his lips curling into a smile.

His voice is odd in the Diamond Room. The air is so stiff here, heavy with centuries of decision-making meetings and war declarations, and Chan has never heard anyone speak louder than in a strong whisper or using anything else than a flat tone. But Seungkwan speaks with volume and so many intonations laced over all his syllables that it becomes harder to pick one and understand what he's implying. His voice is rough at the edges, uncontrollable, and it always takes Chan by surprise, even though they've been meeting like this for six months already.  
The only thing he has learned to expect from Seungkwan is his mysterious ability to pop up in a room unannounced, without the main door even opening. He just doesn't care about rules and customs, just like he obviously doesn't care that the Oval Table was built by Chan's great-great-great-great-great-great grandfather, the first king of his line, when he hops and sits on it, feet leaving the parquet floor.

“If someone sees you wearing that crown...” Chan trails on with a light smile.

Seungkwan shrugs, and the crown tilts a bit more on his too small head. He's dressed as a street boy today, his frame drowning in dirty rags, and his smooth skin stained with dust and soot.

“You're the King” he says. “What could anyone do to me that you wouldn't be able to stop?”

“What if I let them deal with you?”

Seungkwan chuckles, genuinely amused. Or, as genuine as he can be considering the fact that he seems to be a new person every other day. After his father's death, Chan found himself in a terrible lack of people he could trust, and after experiencing Seungkwan's crude directness, it irremediably fell on him. He knew back then, and he still does now, that it wasn't the smartest decision, but he also couldn't bring himself to befriend anyone from the court.  
They reminded him of snakes, or those disgusting leeches lurking under the surface of the ponds in the Gardens, and after what Seungkwan had said, they also seemed too content and pleased for Chan to be comfortable around them. He spent the first month dreaming about Counsellors and Ministers whose eyes were black and bloodshot, and stomachs expanded by all the blood they had sucked from his father.

Deciding to trust Seungkwan probably wasn't the best move he could have made, and his father probably would have disapproved of it, but it's also the only thing that kept Chan sane over the past six months.

“You probably heard the whole meeting, didn't you?” Chan asks, and Seungkwan answers with one of his mysterious smiles which say both yes and no at the same time. Chan has stopped trying to draw explicit answers from him. “What do you think?”

Seungkwan takes off the crown and glances at it. The gold throws a yellowish glow over his face, exploding in his dark irises in sparkles and burning fires, and Chan can't help but stare.

“Seungkwan?” he asks again.

Seungkwan doesn't even try to muffle his sigh. He blinks up and glances at Chan from between two of the biggest rubies on the crown before he finally puts it down on the table. The identity of the Captain of the Royal Service remains unknown to everyone, except to the king, and most of the spies themselves don't even know where their orders come from exactly.  
Seungkwan has been leading the Royal Service for a couple of years already, and during times like these, Chan can't help but feel like he has his own Kingdom to rule over. Politics never spark the fire in Seungkwan's eyes, as though he had most important things to do than to obey his king. Which is probably the truth anyway.

“The Dawn Alliance probably died with your father,” Seungkwan finally answers with an uninterested voice. “The ties are now fragile between the five kingdoms and since each one of you wants to prove they're the most powerful, wars are bound to come.”

He glances down at the table and slides the tip of his index finger on it to check if the surface is dusty. He smiles and shows Chan his very clean fingertip, and Chan has to bite the inside of his cheeks to keep a straight face. He just never knows how to act around Seungkwan.

“But you don't want to start the conflict,” Seungkwan continues. “Counsellor Kim wants you to declare war against the Serenity Kingdom because despite the fact that he's banging the new Serenity Queen, he can't find the balls to kill King Jaeho himself.”

Seungkwan glances at Chan's hands, the latter dumbfounded by the revelation, and how unimportant Seungkwan made it sound like. He watches, confused, as Seungkwan grabs his left hand and lifts it up to examine it.

“You do have perfect hands to choke someone,” Seungkwan continues. He looks up at Chan and smiles at him, his fingers brushing against the inside of Chan's wrist, up to the center of his palm. Chan knows the spy hasn't missed the shiver that ran down his spine.

“But they're too delicate,” Seungkwan concludes, shaking his head. “I don't know what made that asshole think it was a good idea, but anyway.”

He lets go of Chan's hand and shrugs it off, unimpressed, but when he looks up at Chan, his eyes are serious and dark. They pin Chan on the throne, knocking the air out of him without leaving him a chance to recover from the tingles still running through his hand. He gulps as Seungkwan watches him, his usually curling lips frozen in a straight, almost threatening, line.

“The Dawn Alliance was put together by your father,” Seungkwan tells him. His voice doesn't sound as musical as usually. Instead, it feels tensed, like the string of a bow that would be aiming at Chan's throat. “Don't go around breaking everything he's done.”

“I won't.” Chan's voice breaks, so he clears his throat. “I won't,” he repeats, trying to sound as confident as he should, considering that he's the King and Seungkwan is just a spy.

Seungkwan watches him for a few more seconds, body perfectly motionless and eyes deeper than they've ever been. Chan is suddenly reminded that the man he chose to trust is most definitely a killer, just like the courtiers he's so suspicious about.  
There's no doubt when it comes to Seungkwan though, no need to investigate, he is surely a killer. How many men have died from his hands or his doings? And who knows if Chan isn't just a pawn, playing in a game whose rules have been created months ago and that would inevitably end up with him dying? Seungkwan is certainly smart enough to trick people into thinking the voice giving them ideas is their own. He's dangerous, uncontrollable and so secretive. Chan has no reason to trust him, and billions of them to fear him. So why doesn't he even flinch when Seungkwan leans in?

“But you had no intention of doing so,” Seungkwan says in a whisper, the corners of his eyes lifted up by playfulness. “Am I right?”

“Of course,” Chan stutters.

Seungkwan flashes him a wide smile—a proud smile?-- before he straightens up. Chan visibly relaxes, which earns him an amused look from Seungkwan.

“Why did you come?” Chan hastily asks, intent on proving the man in front of him that he too can play clever. It's obvious that Seungkwan hasn't popped up to make him know about his opinions on the Serenity Kingdom matter, and Chan knows better than anyone that Seungkwan doesn't step into the light just for fun.

As though reading his mind, Seungkwan's smile widens. His legs dangle in the air, and he hops down the table as he pulls out a parchment from his rags. Chan tries not to think about how large they look on Seungkwan and what he could be hiding in them. Or just, really, how large they look around Seungkwan's waist.

“I need a letter from your Highness,” Seungkwan singsongs. “I need to be in the kitchens during the banquet tonight.”

Chan takes the parchment as he throws a confused look at Seungkwan.

“To work?”

Seungkwan nods, eyes sparkling.

“To work indeed, your Serene Highness, but not in patisserie making. I believe I'm on a serious lead in your father's death case, and I think tonight could bring us both more answers than we have questions.”

“And you're going to find them in Mrs. Kwon's sauces?”

Seungkwan shrugs as he rocks on his feet, his hands linked behind the small of his back.

“His Majesty would be surprised,” he brags.

Chan makes a face at the use of his royal titles, but he opens the parchment nonetheless. He's never liked Seungkwan going all official with him, even though the taunting note laced over his voice when he does is hardly considered polite. Seungkwan is probably aware of it, and Chan is almost sure it's a game for the spy, one of the too many he plays at the same time. He indulges him though, telling himself that they are his titles after all and that being bratty about them wouldn't change a damn thing, when, really, he knows that he just likes the sight of Seungkwan's playful smirk and the lower tone of his voice when he uses them.

Chan looks down at the parchment and frowns upon seeing it scribbled with words already.

“The letter of recommendation is already written,” he says.

He looks up just in time to see Seungkwan rolls his eyes, and it's enough for his cheekbones to suddenly overheat.

“Of course it is, King Chan. I know how to imitate your sloppy writing. What I do need is your royal seal.”

Chan catches the mumbled because your father forbade me to imitate those but he ignores it. Instead, he reads over the letter. Seungkwan is right, it does look a lot like his own writing, from the too small blank spaces between the words to the uneven characters to the point that he genuinely wonders if he didn't write it himself. When he looks up at Seungkwan, the latter is patiently watching him, his eyes almost soft and comprehensive as they engulf Chan, and something cracks in him.

  
He looks away, drawing back his attention on the letter, and Seungkwan lets him do so without teasing him. He would have been so lost without Seungkwan, and that's why Chan will always trust him more than he trusts himself. Between biting remarks and judging stares, Seungkwan has always made sure to slip a few explanations about the mechanics of the whole ruling thing. Chan would have never figured it all out on his own. He wonders if Seungkwan was as close with his father as he is with him.

“Boonie?” he says as he stumbles upon the name. He looks at Seungkwan who's now back at layered smiles and deep eyes.

“I thought it sounded cute on me,” he says.

Chan chuckles as he grabs the nearest candle and the small stick of metal colored wax.

“It does,” he confirms with an amused smile.

He uses the candle to melt some of the wax on the parchment, and when he deems the quantity to be enough, he pulls away the fire and presses his index ring on the wax. He waits a few seconds, a bit unsure like he always is when he does things, he's always seen his father do, and finally draws the ring away. He watches the seal, not as clean and great as it used to be when the ring was around his father's finger, but still less messy than it was six months ago. Seungkwan's breath suddenly curls against the side of his face, and Chan looks up only to have Seungkwan's face filling his vision.

“Aw, getting better, aren't we?” Seungkwan congratulates him as he looks into the seal, a lopsided smile stretching on his lips.

Chan pretends his heart isn't fluttering in his chest as he holds out the parchment to Seungkwan.

“Here you go. Boonie, the street kid, is officially recommended by King Chan for kitchen duty during the banquet celebrations this week. Although I have no idea why I would mingle in Mrs. Kwon's employee business.”

Seungkwan takes the parchment with a broad smile.

“You're the King, Lee Chan, it will do the trick. No one expects you to justify yourself. That would be fishy.”

Chan guesses he has no other choice than to believe and trust Seungkwan. It's not like he was planning on doing anything else anyway.

* * *

Music has stopped being beautiful and pleasant about two hours ago, and the conversation has never been interesting at all. It's only the first day of the thirteen-day long ceremony for the new year waiting for them around the corner, and Chan would give his Kingdom for a chance to escape from the six other days. His memory keeps bringing him back to the year before, when he was Prince Chan and enjoying himself on the center of the room, dancing from one girl to the other. It was snowing, just like it is now, but Chan saw in the snowflakes something magical and pretty, when all he sees now is the promise of more hours spent locked up in the castle to deal with various things.

At least, the food is still as delicious as it always is, as expected when it comes to Mrs. Kwon's cooking. She's been the chief in the kitchens for the past twenty years, even before Chan was born, but she still manages to surprise royal and noble taste buds with her talents. Chan regrets the numbers of dishes spreading over the long silk-covered table though, as his stomach won't allow him to taste everything. He knows he'll have to sit there through the whole night, so he keeps the gloominess at bay by mentally listing what he'll eat in the morning while pretending to be engrossed in the Grand Vizier's words.

He hasn't forgotten about Seungkwan -how could he- and every time a new serving of the feast comes from the kitchens, spread over golden plates, he wonders if Seungkwan joined in the making. It makes the tasting all the more interesting, as he tries to find a hint of Seungkwan in the food. It would probably be an unusual taste, something unexpected and surprising, but also tastier than anything else.  
Chan's mind wanders to his younger years, when he was innocent and small enough to be allowed to ask for more dessert, and his thoughts stop on Mrs. Kwon's lemon tarte. He hated it back then, because it was sour even though it looked so promising with the thick layer of meringue topping it, and he felt like it wasn't supposed to be a dessert at all. Now, it just reminds him of Seungkwan. Layered, unexpected, and definitely not what it seems to be. A tiny smile spreads over his lips.

“Your father wouldn't have let anyone break the Commerce Treaty, old friend or not. The Serenity Kingdom is the stronger kingdom of the Dawn Alliance, and its refusal to submit could provoke a revolution,” the Grand Vizier continues in his ear, and Chan has to bite his inner cheek to hold back his sigh.

“My father is not there though,” he says. He doesn't expect his voice to sound as dull as it does, but he comforts himself with the look of surprise and outrage he catches in the Grand Vizier's eyes. “So I guess we can't really know what he would have done.”

The Grand Vizier sticks out his chest, and Chan braces himself for another of his great monologues about Chan's duty as a king, the legacy of his father and his father's father, and everyone before them. Something catches his eyes though, and he stops the Grand Vizier in his tracks with a dismissive gesture of the hand, his eyes already away from the old man's face.

Seungkwan just walked out of the kitchens, his gait dancing and oddly childlike as he looks around him with admiration and sparkles in his eyes. Chan watches him as he pauses on his way to the royal table to observe the people dancing, the colorful dresses and the delicate jackets, a palm under a gold carafe and his other fingers clenching around the handle. Knowing that Seungkwan is playing a role only deepens Chan's confusion, because he's sure he spots a hint of sincerity in Seungkwan's dark eyes as they wander over the room, and it makes his heart flutter in his chest. Seungkwan looks so beautiful standing there, under the hundreds of candles glowing in the room, so different and special with his large cotton shirt tucked into his pants and his naked feet.

  
He cleaned himself -probably Mrs. Kwon's doing- and his skin now looks as smooth as it usually does, faintly tanned as though he was really living on the streets. His locks are velvety, the black so deep Chan thinks he catches blue highlights in them, and his collarbones jutting out from the too large collar of his shirt are hypnotizing. Chan forgets about Boonie, about Seungkwan's actual job and the danger sleeping along the taut muscles as he stares, his mouth dried and the oxygen running away from his lungs.

Seungkwan's head snaps on the right, and Chan immediately straightens, heat creeping on his face as he draws back his attention on the assembly of people dancing at his feet. His ears already ring with Seungkwan's chuckles his whole body is expecting, but when nothing breaks the repetitive melody of the orchestra, he frowns and glances over at Seungkwan who is now by the royal table.

  
Chan realizes he was probably called by one of the Counsellors, and he resists the urge to lean over the table to check who is now talking to Seungkwan. The latter is careful to keep his eyes on the table as he pours some wine in the courtier's crystal glass, his body bending in an awkward bow as he does so.

“Who are you looking at like that?” the Grand Vizier suddenly asks in a controlled voice, despite the fact that his face still carries the resentment for Chan snapping at him. He's one of the most patient men in the court, one of the most comprehensive of Chan's situation, but his constant want to see the latter act exactly like his father did has ruled him out of the short -and very exclusive- list of Chan's friends.

“The servant?” he asks Chan, before raising his hands in the air, the rings he wears at each finger catching the light.

Seungkwan's eyes catch the hand, and Chan sees them follow it down in slow motion until they reach the Grand Vizier's face, and, finally, his. He thinks he sees a slight twitch along the delicate curve of his lips, but he might as well have been dreaming because when Seungkwan walks to them, his face is fleeting and shy, his eyes falling to the floor.

“Your Highness,” he greets with a clumsy bow, as though he wasn't an expert at making them look so taunting.

“His Majesty would like some wine,” the Grand Vizier orders with short, patronizing intonations. Chan slightly winces at the rudeness.

Seungkwan's eyes go from the Grand Vizier's face -the latter not even bothering to look at him- to Chan's, and this time, Chan doesn't dream the hint of mischief pulling at Seungkwan's eyebrows.

“I'm sorry, your Highness,” Seungkwan says with an unsure voice. “But I'm afraid I have to refill the carafe as Sir Choi just finished it.”

He then bows to apologize, his body curving with easiness and grace, and Chan watches as the too large shirt follows him, opening more on the collar and sticking to Seungkwan's waist. The Grand Vizier sighs next to him, mumbling something about Counsellor Choi's love for wine, and Seungkwan straightens up.

It all happens in the blink of an eye: Seungkwan winking at him, the loud thump somewhere on Chan's left, people screaming and chairs rattling as the Counsellors jump on their feet. Chan throws a confused look at the left wing of the royal table, and freezes upon seeing Sir Choi, his face in his plate, and blood staining the silk under it with a growing puddle. The musicians stop playing, and they all can hear Sir Choi's last breath as it comes out in a thick gargle. His hand still on the table opens and he lets go of his glass. The dark plum coloured liquid merges in with the Counsellor's blood.

The Grand Vizier may be old, but he proves to be smarter than Chan thought, because he suddenly whirls around to Seungkwan, his eyes wide open and a snarl on his lips. He jumps on his feet as he draws his ceremony sword out of his belt. Chan has to press himself flat against the table so that it won't slice his throat open.

“Protect King Chan!” the Grand Vizier howls in an unnecessary ceremonious voice as he attacks first.

His sword clashes against Seungkwan's carafe with a deafening echo, soon followed by a pained moan and a harsh sound as said carafe collides with his face. Chan gasps as his father's old friend collapse on the table, his arms dangling off the edge. With his fall, the ruckus explodes around them. Dozens of swords fill the room with swooshing sounds as they are drawn out by hands that have never used them for anything else than training, and voices rise, angry and outraged that someone might have plotted against their king when they usually are the ones doing so.

  
Seungkwan is faster though, even faster than the guards rushing to him, and it takes him barely less than a couple of seconds to reach the kitchen doors. He's followed by a messy line of soldiers whose armour clink noisily, almost musically, throughout the kitchens. Chan hears the employees' surprised yelps, and he stands up, adrenaline shooting through his veins.

“Wait, no,” he tentatively calls out, unsure of who he should talk to. With the Grand Vizier sleeping on Mrs. Kwon's roasted chicken, his last chance of being heard in the chaotic mess around him has gone. He curses under his breath and takes a first step towards the kitchens. A pair of hands shoot up from nowhere and close around his arms, and Chan is pulled back as though he was nothing more than a puppet.

“Wait,” he protests after glancing over his shoulder and realizing the Captain of the Royal Guard is the one holding him back. “Ch—the boy!”

“Don't worry your Highness, we'll catch him. For now I have to take you somewhere safe!”

Chan's attempts at breaking free are vain, easily countered by the Captain's much stronger arms, and he finally gives in, panic rising in his chest. He would order him to call back his men, but Seungkwan did just kill a men, and linking the crime to the Crown might not be the smartest move ever. He watches, powerless, as the guests are taken out of the banquet room by a few guards, he watches as kitchen employees are taken out of Mrs. Kwon's territory one by one and asked to kneel down, he watches as some Counsellors check on the Grand Vizier. He watches, as he's driven out of the room through the back door, Sir Choi's face frozen in a snarl, poison still foaming between his now green-coloured lips. He watches the chaos, the mess around him, and all he can think about is Seungkwan running with twenty soldiers on his trail.

* * *

The guards keep running until the morning comes, unannounced if not for the confused roosters screaming at the still dark sky, but Seungkwan – well, Seungkwan has obviously long stopped running.

Chan startles as he enters the royal suite only to find the spy sitting on a dresser, his eyes sparkling as they land on him, and he hastily closes the door behind him to stop the soldiers on guard duty by his room to peek inside. He turns the latch with shaking fingers, and turns towards Seungkwan, a mix of very opposite feelings raging on inside his chest. He wants to scream at him for how stupid he's been to put himself out there like that, he wants to curse him for having obviously lied to him about his true motives – motives that he wants to question too actually – but mostly, he wants to sigh with relief, he wants to rush to him and make sure he's okay. The battlefield inside his mind leave him unsure, his legs wobbly under him and his throat mysteriously tight.

Seungkwan hops down the dresser, all sleek and silent grace, and then pulls out a piece of parchment from his belt. He's still wearing the kitchen boy outfit even though his appearance is considerably more disheveled now. His shirt hangs on his thighs, the collar tilted over his left shoulder, and the hem of his pants is covered with mud. He holds out the parchment to Chan and looks up at the latter as he pushes back a dark lock with a sharp gesture of his head. It ends with another unfaltering smile and his eyes curling into playful crescents.

“I got the letter back. If they can't look closer into it, they'll have nothing to link you with Choi's death. They'll assume it was a fake. You're safe.”

Chan looks down at the letter between Seungkwan's fingers, then back to his face. He looks like he always does, mysterious and secretive, like he knows more than he should. There's not a hint of nervousness or fear on his features, even after the whole Royal Guard has chased him all night long, and it's enough to pull Chan out of his confusion.

“What were you even trying to--” he starts screaming, shut down when Seungkwan's hand crashes against his lips. He moans in protest, but Seungkwan easily handles him, his other hand grabbing both his wrists so that he can't break free. Up close, Chan can almost count Seungkwan's lashes as the latter blinks towards the door, his breathing even but his features tensed. Chan can't help the burst of pride upon seeing Seungkwan dropping the childlike face for a more appropriate one. He is, after all, the most wanted man in the Kingdom right now.

“Mmmmh,” he tries to say, and Seungkwan frowns at him before sighing and letting go of him. Chan tries to dismiss the pleasant warmth spreading over his mouth, right where Seungkwan's palm was, so he focuses on his anger.

“I can't believe you killed him in front of everyone,” he whispers as furiously as he can. “Why did you even kill him for?!”

“Because he killed your father,” Seungkwan snaps at him.

The knowing smile is definitely long gone, and all softness on his face has left with it. His cheekbones stand out even more against the smoothness of his skin, and his features now look as sharp as his gaze when he takes in Chan's dumbfounded face.

“What?”

Seungkwan doesn't answer, but he holds Chan's gaze without a blink, without the slightest hint of regret in his eyes. Chan saw him kill a man a few hours earlier, his role so perfectly composed that no one took a double look at him, and now Seungkwan is facing him, colder than he's ever been, but also more real, more firm. Chan might have known it this whole time, but it feels like he's only realizing it now – how he gave all his trust to a professional killer.

“Why didn't you just tell me?” he asks. He can't help his voice from sounding disappointed, hurt.

Something cracks in Seungkwan's expression, but he fixes it quick enough so that his answer comes out detached and uninterested.

“I didn't have enough proof. You would have never accepted to lock him up. He had it coming, Chan.”

There's a fire licking Chan's insides, burning his muscles, melting his veins, and when it finally reaches his brain and set his optical nerves alight, Chan sees red. He grits his teeth and throws away all sense of caution.

“And now you have the whole Kingdom after you!” he explodes.

Seungkwan moves even faster now than he did in the banquet room earlier. His feet don't even make a sound on the wooden floor, and his hand muffles Chan's gasp when he bumps into him violently enough to knock the air out of his lungs. Even his breathing is soundless, hardly distinguishable if it wasn't for the close proximity between the two of them. Chan feels Seungkwan's warmth through his clothes, he feels his breath hovers over his throat, and feels the tension in Seungkwan's muscles as the latter holds him put, his fingers burning against his lips.

“I loved your father,” Seungkwan tells him in a whisper. He's much smaller than Chan, but his gaze is intense, hypnotizing, and Chan is the helpless one. His heart rushes against his ribcage as Seungkwan slides a leg between his to hold him even more firmly.

“He took me out of the streets, and he gave me a chance,” Seungkwan continues. “And I'm sure you agree with me, but I wasn't going let anyone get away with his murder.”

Chan tries to say something but Seungkwan's hand presses even harder on his face, and Chan falters. His skin is now tingling with how close Seungkwan is standing, and he feels like his stomach is crawling inside him.

“Now, stop being such a brat, will you? Your father had us kill more men than you can count for the Kingdom's safety. Sometimes, justice isn't enough, your Highness.”

Chan glares at him. Seungkwan's hold on him is so strong that his arm is getting numb and he has a hard time breathing. He muffles something against the spy's palm, putting as much biting as he can in his intonations, and he keeps glaring as Seungkwan looks into his face, visibly amused.

“I suggest Yoon Jeonghan as the new Captain of the Royal Service. He's very good,” he says, his smile widening as Chan rolls his eyes and tries to bite his palm. He chuckles and finally pulls it away. He doesn't step back though, and neither does Chan.

“So what will you do now?” Chan asks as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

He pretends he doesn't notice Seungkwan's eyes following his gesture and stopping on his mouth, but he fails miserably as heat creeps on his cheeks. Seungkwan's eyes slide up the bridge of his nose until they finally stop on Chan's eyes again.

“I don't know. I'm officially an outlaw now, so maybe I'm just going to break some more laws.”

“Ah,” Chan mumbles, hoping that his voice will come out interested, because he has absolutely no idea what Seungkwan just said.

Seungkwan rolls his eyes and stands on his tiptoes to press a short, fleeting kiss on Chan's lips. Chan feels it all at once, Seungkwan's hands curling on his biceps, his breath fanning over his lips, the rush of prickling bites flashing through his body, the heat and the need. His own hand desperately reaches out for support, and his shaking fingers close on Seungkwan's shirt on his waist.

Seungkwan looks at him, a light smile stretching his lips. It is a new one, Chan faintly registers, but he likes it.

“Calm down,” Seungkwan tells him in a low, low voice. “It's just a kiss.”

“That wasn't a kiss,” Chan retorts. Where Seungkwan's voice was all softness and warmth, his sounds dull, distant. He's not even sure what he's saying at this point. “That was merely a peck, definitely not a kiss.”

Seungkwan laughs lightly before he leans in again and kisses Chan properly. Once again, it hits Chan with so much strength that he feels his whole body shrinking, and his fist tightens on the fabric of Seungkwan's shirt. His other hand immediately reaches out for the latter's neck, and he faintly whimpers when his fingers curl against the smooth skin there.

  
Seungkwan tastes like freedom against his lips, like everything unexpected and refreshing, and it's even better than the hint of lemon Chan was almost expecting. He feels the spy smile against his lips, and it shoots another jolt of warmth through his body. His senses are on fire, and it's so good, until it actually starts to hurt.

He lets Seungkwan know with a slight groan that gets lost somewhere between Seungkwan's lips while the latter teases Chan's upper one. When he draws away, he leaves behind another fire to spread on Chan's lips.

“Is this more like it?” he asks in a gentle voice that has Chan breathing a little too harshly. He looks down at Seungkwan, at the the smile hinted by the pulled-up corners of his mouth, and nods.

The smile spreads on Seungkwan's lips, and he grabs Chan by the waist to push him backwards to the king-sized bed. Chan can't find it in himself to let go of Seungkwan's shirt though, so their bodies bump into one another on their way there, making their progress considerably more complicated.  
Seungkwan chuckles in the crook of Chan's neck, his breath tingling him, and Chan raises his shoulder to protect the now over sensitive skin of his throat. Seungkwan's lips somehow end up along his jawline.

His touch is tantalizing, and painfully fleeting. Seungkwan peppers kisses on his skin like a spy, Chan guesses: in the dark and in full control. His lips don't stay long enough on Chan's skin to leave a mark, because Seungkwan comes and goes like he wants, and even the tip of his tongue, that Chan can feel darting out to tease his earlobe, is impersonal, because Seungkwan is no one and everyone at the same time.

  
In the past few months, he's been everything though, from the killer to the only friend Chan had, and he wants it all now, even the sides he doesn't know, he doesn't like. He needs Seungkwan to be there, so he pulls away, cups his face and clashes their mouths together.

The back of his knees hit against the foot of his bed just when Seungkwan kisses him back, and that is enough for him to lose his balance. He sits down, his body bouncing on the high mattress, and Seungkwan follows suit, straddling him, both his hands cupping Chan's face. Chan finally let’s go of the shirt only to grab at Seungkwan's shoulders, and the latter presses himself harder against him in response. His legs are so tightened around Chan's waist that it almost hurts, but the pressure isn't nearly enough.

Chan tenses, one muscle after the other, as Seungkwan slightly let’s go only to follow along Chan's lips with his tongue, and it kills him slowly, but oh so deliciously. Battling with his own frustration, he lets out a groan that ends up in a soft moan when it lands on Seungkwan's lips, and he starts working on Seungkwan's shirt.

It's so large, so loose that Chan easily digs his way under it. He presses his palms flat against Seungkwan's jutting out shoulder blades and he keeps digging, expanding the large, so large collar while Seungkwan kisses his neck. He's still Seungkwan, still powerful and out of reach, except that he's now wrapping himself around Chan, and Chan has no intention to let him go. He is so surprised to feel him so solid and firm under his hands, so whole when he was only fractured parts of himself all this time.

  
A voice, a pair of dark eyes, a long list of different names and stories sticking to him in thick layers. Now, it all comes together, the faint sighs, his eyes heavy with lust and even his body all over Chan. He is so small under his hands, so thin, and it's so unexpected that Chan breaks the kiss to look down at Seungkwan's chest. He spots a few beauty marks on the smooth skin, but the lack of light throws shadows over the details spread over Seungkwan's body, so Chan lets his hands wander a little more.

  
His hands part the shirt further, slide it down Seungkwan's left shoulder, then down the right one while Chan watches Seungkwan's muscles roll under his skin as he pulls his arms out of the sleeves.

Seungkwan's legs are now locked around the small of Chan's back, and they're both very aware of their growing crotches and the much needed friction that only a few inches prevent, but Seungkwan still doesn't lose control. He looks up at Chan, swollen lips curling up and immediately works on the latter's shirt.  
King outfits come with a whole lot of buttons and intricate patterns that Chan takes a few embarrassing minutes every morning to understand, but Seungkwan's fingers slide from one spot to the other without him hesitating at all. Chan watches him through the too long bangs falling over his forehead until Seungkwan finally manages to slide his shirt off, and then he's too busy kissing Seungkwan to marvel at the beauty marks under his eyebrow again.

Seungkwan wraps an arm around Chan's neck, and his body suddenly undulate against the latter, the wave starting from the crook of his neck, from under Chan's fingers nesting there, and ending in his lower back, right against Chan's abdomen, and the feeling is so amazing that Chan lets out a low moan. Seungkwan looks up at him, chuckling.

“Shhh,” he whispers, even though his breathing is just as erratic as Chan, while pressing his finger against his mouth.

Chan grabs Seungkwan by the waist and lays him down on the bed. Seungkwan's back hits the mattress with a soft thud, and Chan is very pleased to catch his surprised eyes just before he situates himself over him and kisses him deeply, a hand clenching on the sheets for support, and the other getting rid of Seungkwan's pants. He feels Seungkwan tensing when he slides his hand past the waistline of his pants, and Seungkwan's lips crash against his at the exact same time his fingers curl around his cock. Seungkwan's moan is muffled by their kiss.

Seungkwan is so reactive, and with each flick of his wrist, Chan draws him farther away from the control he mastered during the past six months. Each shiver running through Seungkwan's body has Chan swelling with pride and affection, and each moan dying on the back of Seungkwan's tongue as they kiss has him thrumming with need and want. It's so hot, hotter than it's ever been in a cold winter night, and the air feels so stiff around him, so thick. He can't breathe, not with Seungkwan's tongue focusing on his lips again, so he draws away and buries his face in the crook of Seungkwan's neck.

The latter lets out a desperate whimper before he glances at the door and resolves to muffling his moans against Chan's collarbone. His body arches off the bed as Chan's fingers tighten around his cock, and he finally grabs Chan's belt, his movements sharp and impatient. It takes them a few seconds of rolling around and untangling their limbs but they finally manage to take all their clothes off.

  
Seungkwan crawls over him, caging him with his body, and Chan tightens his hold around him as he sits up, lips chasing after Seungkwan's. This time, he expects the first body roll, but it still sets his skin ablaze. His fingers clench on Seungkwan's back, drawing a moan from the latter, and Seungkwan gets back at him with another thrust of his hips.

Chan can taste blood from all the lip biting he's doing on the tip of his tongue, and his fingers have grown numb from the intense clenching, but he doesn't break away. He wouldn't be able to anyway, not when his whole being feels so desperate for the release from all the tension gnawing at his lower stomach. Not when Seungkwan is so tightly wrapped around him, his mouth pressing shaking moans against the tingling skin on his shoulder.

  
Chan's breath catches in his throat when Seungkwan suddenly grabs his hair on the back of his neck, his body tensing against his. He comes with his thighs clenching around Chan's waist, and it only takes his broken half-muffled moan to bring Chan to the much needed climax he's been chasing after. He bites the sensitive skin of Seungkwan's neck to soften his moan as his muscles let go one after the other.

Seungkwan is the first to move. Still tightly wrapped around Chan, he draws back one of his hands and pulls Chan's face out of the crook of his neck. The look he lays on him is gentle and soft, even bordering on adoring, and Chan feels himself crumble under it. Seungkwan looks amazing towering over him, his skin covered with red patches and his lips pinker than ever.

  
His hair is sticking out on the back of his head, and although he's not smiling yet, his eyes are already curved in moon crescents. He looks whole, he feels whole and stripped of all the layers and masks, but mostly he feels great between Chan's arms, like he belongs. And he does. So perfectly well.

“You should go to sleep,” Seungkwan whispers with a lopsided smile. His features are drawn with content, giving his face a gentleness that no spy behavior could completely erase. “I'm pretty sure they'll wake you up early. Your Kingdom is in the middle of a crisis situation, remember?”

Chan snorts while Seungkwan's fingers hover over his face, fingertips barely grazing his skin.

“Whose fault is that?” he asks, and Seungkwan's face scrunches up in the wildest smile he's ever flashed to Chan.

Before he can even answer though, Chan wraps his arms around his waist and pulls him closer against him before lying back on the mattress. He's pretty sure the world will keep on turning even if they slip out of it for a couple of hours, and he feels too tired to function anyway. Hopefully, everyone will still be too busy freaking over Sir Choi's death to mind him, and maybe they should. Seungkwan killed a member of the court in front of hundreds of people after all.

Something clicks in Chan's mind and he frowns, sleep already lurking at him from every direction.

“Seungkwan,” he drowsily asks. “How did you know Choi would be the one asking you for a drink when you came out of the kitchens?”

Seungkwan laughs lightly against him, the rumble in his chest vibrating against Chan's ribcage.

“My job is to know those things,” he answers with a hint of pride that Chan has never heard before.

He means to say something else, to ask about how he shook off the guards – considering that being in the Royal Guards makes them the best of the best, it couldn't have been that easy – but his lips refuse to part, and his words die out in the back of his throat. His one last thought is for his father, whose name has finally been avenged, and for what Seungkwan had said about the King pulling him out of the streets.  
Something tells Chan that he had been wrong all this time: his father would have approved of his overflowing trust in Seungkwan. After all, he trusted him too. It makes Chan's lips twitch with the need to smile, but instead he falls asleep with Seungkwan's fingers running through his hair, and his breath tingling his neck.

* * *

Something cold comes biting at Chan's body, and he shivers, curling up on himself, confused. He has not slept long enough, or deep enough for that matter, to have forgotten the events of the night, and it's the sudden realization that there should be another body next to him that completely wakes him up. He sits up with a jump, confused and mind thumping with the hours of rest his body is begging from him. The bed next to him is indeed empty, but that's not surprising considering that Seungkwan is currently crouched down on Chan's window ledge, one of the King's fur coats wrapped around his body. His eyes barely stand out against the still dark night spreading behind him, but Chan feels them on him. He shivers and realizes someone has thrown a few covers on him.

“Is this the last time I'm seeing you...?” he dares to ask, his voice cracking over the short hour of sleep he got.

The fact that Seungkwan is currently getting ready to jump out of the highest tower of the castle doesn't even cross his mind. He knows the look on the Seungkwan's face, he knows the smile curling his lips, and the wrinkles mapping the corners of his eyes. It radiates of power and knowledge, and there's nothing Chan could do to catch him and stop him before he disappears – like he always does.

Except that things are a bit different this time. Seungkwan isn't sliding behind a hollow wall to go back to his business. He's jumping into the night to run away from a Kingdom that wants him dead.

Seungkwan grabs the wood of the window frame as he throws an exaggerated look at Chan.

“Why, your Highness, what a scatterbrained idea!” he exclaims. “I do have the keys to every door in this kingdom after all.”

His eyes lower to Chan's naked chest, and Chan feels a smile creeping on his face in response.

“And the one to your heart,” Seungkwan adds, cheekiness intended.

He winks at Chan with a wide grin, then jumps into the dark cold winter night.

Chan falls back on his bed with a loud peal of laughter, his ears still ringing with Seungkwan's chuckles.


	2. Epilogue

Placeholder to come.


End file.
